


I Sing the Body Electric

by ChancellorGriffin



Series: The Doctor Mechanic Chronicles [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Raven, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raven-centric, Trauma, doctor mechanic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChancellorGriffin/pseuds/ChancellorGriffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the battle at Mount Weather, the Ark survivors have spent the past six months ferrying supplies from the mountain back to Camp Jaha, from food and clothing to weapons and building materials.  Raven, finally well enough to walk, tags along to begin exploring possible ways to tap into the bunker’s power supply.  But when her tinkering backfires and creates a sudden electrical surge, shorting out the power to all the doors, she and Abby are separated from the rest of the convoy.  Trapped inside the mountain, Raven begins to experience PTSD flashbacks of her Mt. Weather captivity and torture, leaving Abby to comfort her and talk her down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blackout

_"This is the female form,_

_It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,_

_I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it;  
_

_Have you ever loved the body of a woman?_

_Have you ever loved the body of a man?_

_Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?"_

\--Walt Whitman, from "I Sing the Body Electric _"_

 

The blackout wasn't technically Raven's fault, but it also wasn't _not_ her fault.

She had been chomping at the bit for months to get Abby's permission to join one of the twice-weekly supply convoys to Mount Weather, but Kane's team was still working on leveling the road, and Abby didn't believe Raven's leg was up to it.  Abby's own wounds were still healing too, and there was a stiffness to her gait sometimes that reminded Raven, when she got too irritable with the doctor, that she was arguably the only person at Camp Jaha who actually, truly understood Raven's agonized frustration at being confined to camp for so long.  So Raven tried not to snap at her.  (Much.)

But six months after the Battle of Mount Weather, with Raven's wounds healing nicely and a shiny new leg brace made by Wick from salvaged material Jackson snagged from the bunker's state-of-the-art medical facilities, Abby was out of excuses.

"Am I cleared to travel?" Raven asked anxiously during her weekly checkup.

"Listen to me, Raven," said Abby, fingers deftly prodding up and down Raven's thigh muscles.  "Damage to the femoral shaft is serious business.  The bone is still healing and your muscles are not back up to full strength yet.  You're going to need to go slow, take lots of breaks, and -"

 _"Abby,"_ said Raven.  "Yes or no?"

Abby folded her arms and looked at Raven, who was sitting on the edge of the operating table, looking up at her with a mix of anxiety and desperate hopefulness in her dark eyes, and Abby sighed.

"This is really important to you," she said, half a statement and half a question. 

"They have a self-contained electrical grid," said Raven eagerly.  "If we can tap into it and figure out some way to lay cable underneath Kane's supply road as we go, we could tap directly into the Mount Weather generators and power Camp Jaha from the dam for years and years.  I have to be able to get up there and look at it.  It's a huge job, weeks, maybe months, but if it works we could have heat and light all through the camp before winter."

"I know," said Abby, "believe me.  We all want that.  But Wick's been up there three or four times to look at it and he says there's no -"

Raven snorted.  "Wick doesn't know what he's talking about," she said.  "Come on, Abby.  Let me go with the convoy tomorrow.  I'll wear my brace, I'll make them go slow, I'll ride in Jackson's supply cart if you want me to.  But I'm going stir-crazy stuck in this goddamn camp."

"It's not worth re-injuring your leg, Raven," said Abby pointedly.

"Really?" said Raven, her voice skeptical.  "Electricity throughout the entire camp isn't worth the tiny chance of me maybe, possibly, tripping over a tree root or something and -"

"Raven."  Abby's voice was low and serious.  Her hands stopped moving and Raven experienced a sudden heightened awareness of them, of Abby's strong hands resting on her thigh, and she suddenly realized that Abby meant it.  Abby _didn't_ think electricity for the whole camp was worth Raven's leg. 

"We haven't seen real winter here yet," said Raven.  "This could be life or death for us.  This could be the only way we avoid having to move the whole camp inside Mount Weather for the winter."  This, as the New Council had discussed over and over, was something absolutely none of the Ark refugees were willing to consider.  They would eat Mount Weather's food, wear their clothing, stockpile their weapons and tools and building materials, raid the bunker down to the last hammer and nail for anything that could make life at Camp Jaha more sustainable - but nobody wanted to go back inside.  The supply convoys traveled up twice a week, half a dozen or so people at a time with carts and wagons, loaded up whatever they could carry and hauled it back.  Nobody wanted to stay within the building's walls longer than they absolutely had to.  "Life or death," said Raven again.  "For all of us.  I'm not more important than that."

"You are to me," said Abby, and the words sort of _fell_ out of her mouth, abrupt and hurried, as if she had been thinking it but hadn't meant to say it and a wire got crossed somewhere.  Raven wasn't sure how to respond to this - although the words, combined with the feel of Abby's hand resting on her thigh, added a strange electrical charge to the space between them.

"To _us,_ is what I meant," said Abby, finally collecting herself, pulling her hand away, standing up, straightening her jacket and becoming Doctor Griffin again, composed and calm.  "You're incredibly valuable to this camp, and we can't function at our best when you're too injured to work.  I need you to take care of yourself."

"Yes or no, Abby?" said Raven again, and Abby gave up.

"Fine," she said.  "You can go with the convoy tomorrow.  But I'm going with you."

* * *

On the Ark, Raven had worn her brisk competence and sarcastic persona as a protective wall around her, which worked both directions.  It kept other people at a safe distance, and shielded herself.  She had known who she was, on the Ark, known her role and her place.  But down here on the ground, where everything was a bloody, fiery mess, she was some entirely new person she didn't quite know yet.  Finn's death had done something to her, a part of her had died with him - not just because she cared about him but because it was for her, it was her fault that he was here, his blood wasn't just on Clarke's hands, but Raven's too, and so even though she wanted to hate Clarke, wanted to hate her so badly, she couldn't, not when this was a thing they had done to him together.  Wick was great, he made her laugh and her occasional nights with him took the edge off, but both of them knew that the Raven who lived inside those high protective walls was never going to surrender herself to Kyle Wick. That wasn't what this was.  And so it was a surprise to Raven to realize, lost in thought as she and the rest of the convoy trudged their way along Kane's half-finished supply road up to the mountain, that she was lonely.  Finn was dead.  Clarke was gone.  Bellamy was still here, but different somehow; he had taken his place at Kane and Abby's right hand as a member of the New Council and the de facto leader of the 48, a valued leader and an important person.  Which was great, because he'd earned it, but it subtly shifted the power dynamic between him and the others in a way that made Raven feel like she would be intruding on his more important matters if she just knocked on his door one day with a bottle of pilfered Mount Weather whiskey and wanted to talk.  (Any interest she might have had in getting drunk and doing other things with Bellamy was well in the past.) 

She was harder now, since landing on the ground, but she wasn't sure she was actually stronger.  She didn't feel stronger.  She felt rigid, unyielding, but brittle - as though at any moment she might snap in half.  That was why this trip was so important.  She needed to _do_ something.  She needed to be Raven again.  It wasn't just about keeping her hands busy, it wasn't just about distraction, although that was there too.  It was the only light to chase away the dark shadows of this feeling of isolated helplessness - this feeling that she was losing herself, beginning to atrophy, stuck at camp with nothing to do but rewire the odd radio and endure her daily physical therapy with Abby.

Abby.

Raven wondered if Abby saw a great deal more than she let on.  She wondered if the dark thoughts swirling around inside her as they trudged along the half-cleared path might not surprise Abby at all.  If she ever said these things out loud to anyone - which of course she never would - but if she did - she thought Abby would understand.  She would listen, she would nod, she wouldn't argue or offer false comfort or utter hollow reassurances.  She would look straight at Raven with her honest brown eyes and she would listen. 

Raven watched her as they walked.  Abby remained a tactful few paces ahead of her the entire time - far enough ahead to give Raven some privacy and to avoid the impression that she was deliberately slowing down her natural pace for Raven's benefit, but close enough that Raven was never lagging too far behind the others.  Perfectly calibrated.  You would not have known there was anything deliberate about it.  You would have thought Abby was just walking. 

But Raven knew Abby.  She saw it.

Raven watched the thick brown braid that tumbled down Abby's back and swung when she moved.  She thought about Abby's hand on her thigh yesterday on the medical exam table, and she thought about the strange vibration of electrical energy in Abby's voice when she had said, _"You are to me,"_ and she wondered.

Raven had never been with a woman.  She knew enough about Abby to know that Abby was not interested in women.  There was Clarke's dad, before, and now some kind of something simmering between her and Kane.  That was it.  Raven's list was not much longer; there had been Finn - for years, there had been only Finn - and then that one night with Bellamy she'd prefer now to forget, and then Wick.  That was all. 

So, that couldn't be what this was.  Right?  There was no way. 

Still, Raven wondered.

 * * *

Jackson and Miller were leading the convoy - it rotated with every trip, one Ark dweller and one of the 48 each time, Bellamy's idea to begin bridging the two communities together, and it worked on the whole very well.  They camped overnight on the way and arrived in the morning, with six hours to load and pack before they departed again.  The convoys were a well-oiled machine at this point, and everyone but Raven and Abby had been at least a dozen times already.  The team split up immediately, each assigned a floor or room and a specific list of supplies to collect. Miller and Sinclair took two carts to the warehouse, while another pair went to the science lab and a third to Agriculture up on Level 1.  Abby followed Jackson to the medical wing, armed with a shopping list of her own, while Raven, who insisted on being left alone so she could think properly, made her way down to the room on Level 4 where the control systems for oxygen, electricity and water were housed.

The blackout wasn't technically Raven's fault, but it also wasn't _not_ her fault.  In hindsight, there were many people to blame.  Abby, for instance.  Abby, who had told her, "You can look, you can open it up and poke around inside, you can draw maps and schematics to your heart's content, but you are not pulling apart the entire Mount Weather electrical system until we have a plan and a backup plan and a support team."  Raven had obtained permission from Abby to bring along her small tool kit in exchange for a promise not to do anything more than open up the wall and look around.  So it was because of Abby that she only had a wrench and a screwdriver and almost nothing else.  And Wick, this was partly Wick's fault too, because Wick had told the Council that there wasn't a way to splice into the relay where power funneled into Mount Weather from the generators at the dam and tap into it to lay cable down the hill to Camp Jaha, so obviously the second she was alone with a wrench and nothing between her and the control system's inner workings but a sheet of metal paneling, she had to prove him wrong.  And the United States government, this was on them too, for building this janky-ass system a hundred years ago with the messiest, most disorganized internal circuitry she'd ever seen, where a very clever mechanic with very good intentions could pull open one measly wall of electrical paneling at the source of the bunker's electrical controls and stumble upon the central relay without even knowing it.

But it was also Miller's fault - though Miller didn't know it - because he was the one with the drill.

Raven was inside the wall of circuitry with a needlenose pliers and a flashlight - just looking, like she promised Abby, really, truly, she was hardly even touching anything - when she heard the sound.  She found out later that Miller had found a cordless power drill in one of the warehouses and was a few rooms away from her, unscrewing a wall of metal shelving on Jackson's instructions so they could carry it back to the Camp Jaha storage rooms.  It was fine.  It was innocuous.  Nobody had done anything wrong.

Except that Raven heard the sound, and the world went black and red, and suddenly she was strapped to a table again, screaming, as a drill bored into the bone of her leg. The flashlight fell out of her numb, trembling hands, and she dropped to her hands and knees.  She knew there was nothing there, but she could feel it, the pain in her thigh, she could hear the screaming drill and Wick's voice and Cage Wallace standing over her and the sound of all those people crying out for him to stop, but he didn't stop, he didn't stop, the drill pierced her skin and then her muscle and then her bone and -

 _This is a panic attack,_ she could hear a voice murmuring inside her mind.  Abby's voice.  Warm and calm and sane.  _Raven, you are having a panic attack.  The first thing you need to do is breathe.  Are you breathing?  Take a deep breath.  Let it out.  Good.  Now another one.  Keep going.  You're okay.  You are safe.  Cage Wallace is dead.  They're all dead.  You are in no danger.  Just breathe._

So Raven tried to breathe.

She tried to remind herself that it was all over, it was in the past, it was behind her, she was fine, her leg was fine.  She let Abby's voice in her head soothe her.  Her arms and hands were tense, and she felt the muscles slowly slacken and loosen, and she sank to the ground.  She lay there, on the cold concrete floor, trying to still her racing heart.

_They are dead.  You are alive.  You won.  It's over.  You're safe._

_Breathe._

She did not know how long she lay there, curled up in the fetal position on the control room floor, but eventually her heart slowed back to normal, her breathing relaxed, and she sat up.  She did not feel inclined to admit to anyone on the convoy team that she had lost her mind being in the bunker alone, but she was beginning to see the merit in Abby's suggestion to wait until a plan could be formed and a work crew assembled to come help her.  So she gathered up the pile of sketched maps and schematics she had drawn, dusted herself off, and reached inside the open electrical panel to retrieve the flashlight she had dropped.

Now, this is the part that was her fault, a little.

But she was in a hurry.  She was anxious.  She needed to get out of that cement hole in the ground and back to people and light and air.  And so she just reached in, felt the cold metal of the flashlight handle, grasped it, and pulled.  She didn't look to see what wires it might have become tangled in.  She didn't check to see where it had fallen.  She just picked it up and pulled it out.

A fistful of wires snapped out with it, and then everything went black.

Everything.

The green and red and white lights on the control panel died out all at once, and then she heard an ominous silence descend into the space where there once had been an infinite number of soothing mechanical whirring noises.

She was trapped in the dark, inside Mount Weather.

There was no drill this time, but she heard it anyway.  The sound floated at the edges of her subconscious, and she felt it moving closer and closer.  And so she ran.  She grabbed her pile of schematics, her toolbox and flashlight, and she bolted for the elevators.  The hallway was pitch black, she had to use her flashlight the whole way.  The main elevators were silent and dead - they must have been on whatever generator she had just shorted out - but the old-fashioned freight elevator around the corner had a lever and pulley system with a winch.  She pulled on the rope until her hands were burned raw, desperately hauling herself up from Level Four to Level One, then grabbed her stuff and ran as fast as she could through the warehouse, past the horticulture lab and back towards the vast door in the side of the mountain where she would find the rest of the convoy.

The door did not open.

The door had an electrical lock.  They all did.

Raven pulled the heavy metal wrench from her toolbox and slammed it against the iron door with all her might.  She heard, very faintly, as if from a great distance, the sound of voices.  But it didn't soothe her, only made her more anxious.  She was so close.  They were just outside.  She was only a few feet away.  But it might have been a hundred miles, because she was trapped inside the mountain with nothing but a needle-nose pliers and a wrench, no idea where the circuit breakers were, and, quite frankly, a rapidly dwindling reserve of sanity and logical thought.  She sank down to her knees, frantically running her hands over the surface of the door, searching for any way to force it open.  There were four huge metal bolts surrounding the locking mechanism; it was possible, just possible, that if she could pry it off, she could disable it.  But she couldn't get inside it while it was still bolted to the door.

She took up the wrench, clamped it onto the bolt, and pulled as hard as she could.  It didn't budge.  Dimly, in the distance, she heard a voice saying her name, and felt a warm yellow light, but she ignored it.  Her entire world had shrunk down to the size of this wrench and this bolt.  It had to work.  She had to get out.  She had to open the door.

"I am not going to die inside this fucking mountain," she whispered fiercely to the bolt.  "Open, goddamn you.  Open." 

The bolt, entirely uninterested, ignored her, and could no more be budged than a cliff.

She heard the voice again.

"Raven."

It was Abby.  She did not know if Abby was in the room or inside her head, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the bolt.

"Raven, it's okay," said Abby quietly, and Raven felt a hand on her shoulder. 

"I'm gonna get us out of here, Abby," said Raven, her voice high-pitched and bordering on hysteria.  She began to feel the panicked, rapid flutter in her heart again, her breath coming faster and faster.  It was happening again.  It was just like before.  She could hear the drill.  The drill was coming.  She had to get out.  She had to save Abby.  "We're not gonna die here."

"Raven, listen to me," said Abby, and her voice was firm.  "The convoy is right outside.  They're all right here.  They're camping out, waiting for us.  The radios still work.  I talked to Wick, he's already on his way.  He'll be here in less than 48 hours and he's bringing all your tools in the cart with him.  He says Bellamy talked him through the locking mechanisms on the tunnel doors and he says if you talk him through it he can get in easily.  He's bringing Jasper and Monty, and Sinclair is still here, and they're going to open the doors and get the power back on.  We just have to camp out in here for two days.  That's all.  It's just camping.   You're okay, Raven.  We're okay.  Put the wrench down."

Raven heard the words, and registered their meaning, but still she couldn't stop.  She kept straining at the immovable bolt, feeling tears of frustration sting her eyes as beads of sweat slithered through her damp ponytail onto the back of her neck.  _Move, damn you, move._

“I can do it,” she said fiercely, through gritted teeth, straining every muscle in her body to its breaking point. “I can do it. I can get us out of here.”

Abby was suddenly at her side, her gentle hands cool on Raven’s hot skin. She lay one hand on top of Raven’s, where she clutched the wrench with scraped white knuckles, and the other on Raven’s shoulder.

“Raven,” she said. “There’s nothing to escape from. You’re safe.” Raven shook her head, still bearing down on the wrench with both hands.  "Wick will be here soon.  The rest of them are right outside.  I'm in here with you.  We have food, and lanterns, and radios.  We're practically on vacation.  It's okay."  Raven’s hands were beginning to tremble from the strain, her forearms beginning to cramp.

“Raven,” said Abby. “This isn’t like last time. We aren’t prisoners. We’re okay.”  She stroked the back of Raven’s hand with her fingertip, gently, like she was soothing a frightened animal, and Raven felt something inside herself begin to loosen. “You’re safe, Raven,” she said. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Look at us,” she said, laying a hand on Raven’s cheek, and Raven did, she looked at her, at Abby, who had been wounded just like she had, who had been trapped here too, but Abby was vibrant and alive and strong, Abby wasn’t desperately flailing to open a bolted door.  Abby didn't hear the drill every time it was dark. Abby was still Abby. What had happened to Raven? Why was it so much harder for her?

"Do you know what post-traumatic stress disorder is?" Abby asked, her tone light and almost conversational.  "Sometimes when a person has been through a profoundly traumatic experience, your mind and body can flash back and it feels as though you're reliving it, over and over."

"The drill," said Raven, her mouth forming the words almost against her will, and Abby nodded.  "I heard the drill."

"You heard the drill while you were working, and instantly you were right back on that table," said Abby.  "Trapped inside the mountain.  And then the lights went off and the door locked.  Your body thinks you're in danger.  You are not in danger, Raven.  You are safe.  You have to learn how to tell your mind, when it does this again, how to tell the difference." Her hand hadn’t left Raven’s cheek, and Raven suddenly became intensely aware of it – of the cool roughness of Abby’s fingertips, of the strange simmering electricity flickering back and forth from Abby’s skin to her skin and back again. It was suddenly very important, that hand on her cheek. It was suddenly the only real thing in the world. “You’re _safe_ ,” said Abby, her dark eyes earnest and warm. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. No one’s going to hurt you. It’s just you and me, and we’ll be home soon.”

Raven closed her eyes. Her whole body had been coiled taut against that metal bolt, but the sound of Abby’s voice, melting over her like warm honey, did something to her. Her muscles began to ease, just the slightest bit, but it was enough. Abby pried her fingers away from the wrench and set it down. All the strength drained out of Raven the second the cold metal was out of her hands, and if it hadn’t been for Abby’s arms around her, she would have cracked her skull open falling onto the cement floor.

But Abby was right there.

Abby was always right there.

Abby would not let her fall.

The tension in her body evaporated suddenly, all at once, leaving her boneless and dizzy, and she collapsed against Abby, the potent cocktail of trauma, exhaustion and panic finally catching up with her.  The last thing she remembered before everything went dark was Abby’s arms cradling her with infinite tenderness, like a child, and holding her close.

"You're safe, Raven," she said.  "I'm here.  You're not alone.  You're safe.  I promise."

**END OF PART 1**


	2. Sparks Fly

 

 

She had no idea how long it was before she slowly edged back into consciousness again, but she was immediately aware that she was no longer lying on the concrete floor in the Level One anteroom in front of the main door.  Everything felt different, sounded different, _smelled_ different.  Not like home, but not like concrete either.  She lay for a moment with her eyes closed, trying to analyze the strange sensations hovering at her periphery.  What was it?  Something was different.  Something was strange.  It took her several minutes to realize it - it was such an alien sensation - but when she did she was so startled that she spoke the words aloud.

"I'm in a _bed_ ," she said in wonderment.

"Good morning," said Abby's sardonic voice from nearby.  "Gold star for observational skills." 

Raven opened her eyes.

She was lying in a large, expensive-looking carved wooden bed, in an otherwise spartan bedroom, with no other furniture except a small chest of drawers and a wooden chair, in which Abby was currently sitting.  An open door nearby led to an equally deserted-looking living room, where the corner of a couch was barely visible.  No personal effects anywhere.

"Guest quarters, I suspect," said Abby, answering the unspoken question. “Or maybe they had more rooms than they needed. I didn’t want us sleeping on concrete, but the living quarters felt, well, too . . .”

“Haunted,” said Raven, struggling to sit up, and Abby nodded.

“Exactly,” she said. “But I wanted to try and make you comfortable."

"It's morning, you said?"

Abby nodded, and that was when Raven noticed the thing that should have jumped out at her immediately.

_Light._

"I have good news and bad news," said Abby, seeing Raven's eyes flick upwards to stare at the electrical lamp shining merrily from the ceiling.  "The good news is that the backup generator kicked on about an hour after you conked out last night.  The bad news is that the security systems aren't on the backup generator.  So we have light, and power, and oxygen, and heat, and food, and all that good stuff, but I'm afraid we're still camping out in here until Wick arrives to jailbreak us."  She looked at Raven appraisingly.  "How do you feel?"

"Lucid," said Raven.  "Better than last night."

"You were lucid last night," said Abby.  "Very.  You were having an anxiety attack brought on by the sound of somebody from the convoy using an electric drill.  Right?"  Raven nodded.  "Is it better today?"

"Yeah," said Raven.  "I think so."

"How do you feel?"

"Hungry."

"Good," said Abby with a grin.  "That's promising." 

Raven pulled back the covers and stood up to follow her, not noticing until she felt the warm air on her skin that she was wearing only her cotton shorts and camisole, the rest of her clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

"You undressed me," she said to Abby.

"I didn't think you'd want to sleep in your boots and jacket," Abby pointed out reasonably. 

"Good point."

"You get dressed," said Abby, "I'll be out here when you need me."  And she stepped out into the outer room, closing the door behind her.

It took Raven a second to pin down what exactly it was, that strange electrical current that pulsed through her when she realized Abby had taken off her clothes.  That Abby’s hands had been on her nearly naked body.  That Abby’s fingertips had brushed her skin, had gently eased the shirt over her head, had unbuttoned her pants and slipped them down over her hips, had laid her down on a bed that she had somehow, somewhere, located pillows and blankets for - after carrying Raven down there herself - and had tucked Raven in and smoothed back her hair. When she realized what it was, it startled her.  It wasn't discomfort, embarrassment, awkwardness . . . it was _regret._ Abby had touched her all over, and she had been unconscious and missed it, and it would never happen again. 

Her feelings about this were decidedly more complicated than they should have been.

She dressed quickly and opened the door to the living room to see Abby folding up a thin blanket, setting it on top of a flimsy pillow on a small, narrow, ancient-looking sofa.

"What the hell," said Raven, "is that where you slept?"

"It was fine."

"Now I feel like a jerk.  We can trade tonight.  I'll take the couch."

"It's fine.  I don't mind.  It's better than my cot at Camp Jaha, in fact.  Here," she said, handing Raven a cup and a plate.  "Breakfast.  And coffee."

The coffee was good and strong and black, and it made Raven feel human again.  The plate had a small pastry on it, glistening with crystals of sugar, and a heap of fresh fruit.  She devoured it in seconds. 

"I had some time to explore after I put you to bed last night," said Abby, "and the good news is we won't be going hungry."

Abby had finished her work the evening before, it turned out, and the medical supplies she had come for were now sitting in crates outside the Mount Weather doors.  None of them were urgently needed, everything could wait until the convoy left in a few days, so she had nothing to do.  Which meant, as she explained to Raven, "I'm a doctor with exactly one patient.  You."  And so, over the course of the day, she became Raven's assistant.  Raven was uneasy about returning to the control room, but it was different with Abby there.  Abby brought blankets and couch cushions to make them more comfortable, and several battery-powered lanterns, "just in case."  She took careful notes while Raven worked and dictated instructions, and throughout the day she disappeared a handful of times and returned with food - real food, not protein rations, but things Raven had only heard about in stories.  Their system for hauling produce from Mount Weather to Camp Jaha was still limited, so they mostly took sturdy things like root vegetables and squash.  Raven had never tasted a strawberry before.  "Stop working for a minute," she said each time, "and taste this."  And Raven did.  Strawberries first, later in the morning; then, a few hours later, for lunch, a plate of sliced tomatoes drizzled with a tart-sweet dark syrup - "balsamic vinegar," said Abby - and thin slices of several dry, highly-spiced cured meats, alongside thick slices of crusty bread.  Then tea, in the afternoon, real black tea, not just weak forest leaves steeped in boiling water to give it some dull kind of flavor, but a sharp, brisk, richly-flavored Darjeeling with milk and sugar, served alongside impossibly delicate little sweets that looked like edible lace.

The drill did not return with Abby there.  The drill stayed far away.  Raven began to feel like Raven again, drawing maps, examining wires, logging into the control room's computer system to pull up building schematics.  She did, as it turned out, need Wick - which annoyed her - but her mounting excitement was so powerful it could withstand even that.  With Wick and Jasper's help, she felt sure there was a way to pull power from Mount Weather and run it down to the camp.  She kept her promise not to mess with anything, but she had done what she came to do. 

Abby finally made Raven stop working to eat dinner, which they ate in their little guest apartment - Abby was willing to brave the storage rooms and kitchens, but not the dining room where all those dead bodies had lain for so long. 

The little apartment had begun to feel strangely homey, Raven thought as she stepped inside to see Abby setting two plates down on the rickety wooden table and pouring two big glasses of wine.

"This was my deal with Sinclair," she said, handing Raven a glass.  "I said if he couldn't figure out a way to spring the locks from the outside and get us out of here, then we were going to be busting into the top-shelf food and liquor storage.  He said that sounded fair."

"What is this?"

"Bordeaux," said Abby.  "I have no idea what that is, by the way.  I don't know anything about wine or food."

"Everything you've been serving me all day is amazing," said Raven.

"Well, I have to look it all up," said Abby.  "The whole kitchen storage system is cataloged so it tells you what each thing is and where it's stored and it's cross-referenced to a library of recipes."

Raven looked at her.

"You learned how to cook," she said.  "For me.  In like . . . a day."

Abby waved it off.

"I haven't done any real cooking," she said.  "Just putting things on plates.  And I made some tea.  And this was in the deep-freeze, I only had to warm it."

"I don't care," said Raven.  "You're my hero."  And she sat down across from Abby, picked up her glass of wine, clinked it lightly against Abby's, and drank deeply.

The whole evening became a soft, languid haze of magnificent sensations.  The wine spread a rich, heavy warmth inside Raven as she drank it.  The stew in front of her - a heavy, spiced concoction of white beans and sausage, flecked with greens, in a thick red broth - was savory and filling and lovely.  She ate three bowls full, sopping up the last of the broth with more of the same crusty bread they had had with lunch - the bread had also been in the deep-freeze, Abby explained in answer to her question, but warmed up good as new in the oven. 

They didn't talk much as they ate, just devoured the food in front of them; it was still such a novel experience to be free of protein cubes, to eat until you felt content, to eat things whose scents and flavors awakened long-dormant senses and desires inside of you.  They did not speak.  They just ate, in happy silence.  When they were finished, and the bowls were rinsed clean - water had come back on with the emergency generator, said Abby - Raven poured the last of the wine into their glasses and moved to the couch.  After a brief hesitation, Abby followed.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Raven, as Abby sat down on the opposite end of the couch, drawing her feet up underneath her.  "Why don't you hear the drill?"

Abby understood what she meant immediately, and took a long sip of her wine, thoughtfully, as she contemplated her answer.

"I do," she said.  "I do hear it sometimes.  And I see Jake being floated.  And the blood on Clarke's hands.  With -"  She stopped suddenly.

"With Finn," said Raven.  "You can say it."

"Yes," said Abby.  "With Finn.  I see it.  I see all of it.  When I sleep.  When I'm awake.  When I look around the camp at those kids.  I see it.  But it doesn't hit me the way you do.  I don't know why.  We all experience it in different ways."  She looked at Raven seriously, steadily, for a long moment, and answered the question circling around Raven's mind without it even being asked. 

"You're not weak, you know," she said.  "It isn't a character flaw.  The anxiety attacks.  This wasn't the first one, was it?"  Raven shook her head.  "And you look at me, or Wick or Kane or Bellamy, and you don't see them responding in the same way, and you hate yourself because you think it means everyone has figured out how to sleep at night except for you.  That you're the soft one, the weak one.  That they got to you.  You're afraid it will be this way forever.  You're afraid that it means they've won."

Raven couldn't look at her.  But she didn't have to.  Abby was right, and both of them knew it.

"Listen to me, Raven Reyes," said Abby, her voice flickering with some nameless emotion.  "You are the strongest person I have ever met.  You are extraordinary.  You are a warrior."  She reached out a hand, almost absentmindedly, and tucked a loose strand of Raven's hair behind her ear.  "But it is all right for the warrior to admit that she's survived a war.  It's all right for her to admit that some of her scars are on the inside where no one can see.  They're still battle scars, Raven.  There's no shame in them.  You're not weak."

For a long moment, they just looked at each other.  There was a Something in the air between them, just out of reach, and they both felt it.  Abby, ever sensible, broke the tension first, downing the last of her wine and taking Raven's now-empty glass from her. 

"It's getting late," she said, taking them both to the counter and setting them beside the dinner dishes.  "We should both get some sleep."  And she pulled the pillow and blanket from the corner of the couch.  "Scoot," she said.  "You're on my bed."

“Abby, you’re not spending two more nights on a hundred-year-old couch,” said Raven, standing up and going into the bedroom.  Abby didn't follow her.  Raven stripped down to her camisole and shorts again and climbed into the bed.  "Abby.  Come on."

"I'm fine out there," said Abby, leaning her head into the doorway with a smile, "but thank you."

"You're being an idiot," said Raven.  “This is a huge bed, and you’re a tiny lady. For God’s sake. Get in.” And she scooted over to one side of the bed, freeing up the other half – with a much superior pillow.  Abby hesitated, looking from the empty pillow to Raven to the door and back again, her whole body registering uncertainty.

“Abby,” she said. “Seriously. I’m never going to get to sleep if I’m feeling guilty about you sleeping on the couch _again_. Will you please just get into the bed?”

Finally, after a long moment, Abby walked over to the bed and sat down on the empty side of it, on top of the covers, facing away from Raven, as if unsure what the next step in the process was.

“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” Raven pointed out.

"Well, yes."

"Is that what you sleep in?"

"No."

"Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not being weird."

"Take off your pants and get in bed with me, Abby," said Raven, in a joking voice, but the joke didn't land, and she realized, with a tiny thrill, the reason why.

Abby was nervous about getting into bed with her.

Why was she nervous?  Raven found herself suddenly, desperately curious about what Abby was thinking right now.  Her discomfort was both endearing and - if Raven was being totally honest - alluring, too.  After all, if Abby felt nothing - if there was nothing between them - why had she slept on the couch last night, and why was she so uncharacteristically timid now?

 _She's thought about this,_ Raven realized, and it made her stomach flutter.  _She wanted to get in bed with me last night but she resisted and that's why she afraid to now._

 "Abby," she said, forcefully, to hide her own nervousness.  "Just do it."

Possibly uncomfortable with the idea of being forced to give a coherent reason if pressed any further, Abby gave in.  She switched off the light and got undressed in the dark.  Abby couldn't see her, but she could feel her moving nearby, and the soft rustling sounds of fabric falling to the floor stirred and soothed her at once.  Then she felt the covers move and the mattress shift, and then all was still.  Abby was lying beside her.  For a long moment, neither of them spoke or moved, both lying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.  

"Goodnight, Abby," said Raven, turning over in the bed to face her, as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and the curve of her beneath the white sheets and duvet became visible.

"Goodnight, Raven," said Abby, without moving or looking at her, and Raven closed her eyes.

She slept for a little while, soundly and well, untroubled by dreams, soothed by the sweet sound of Abby's breathing.  She woke only once, in the middle of the night, when an unexpected sensation of chill roused her.  She opened her eyes and rolled over and saw that the duvet had become entangled on Abby's side of the bed, while she was shivering.  Raven sat up, straightened the covers, tucked herself back in, and moved herself away from the cold edge of the bed into its warm center, so when she lay back down, the empty space between them was gone.  Abby did not notice - might have still been asleep - but her body was blissfully warm beside Raven, suffusing her with a marvelous, silky heat. 

And so Raven could not stop herself from doing the thing she did next.

She lifted up her head and moved her pillow until it lay end to end, like one long pillow, with Abby's.  Then she reached out her arm and slipped it across the velvety skin of Abby’s bare stomach, pulling her close, curling up into her. Their bodies fit together perfectly, one inside the other. Abby didn’t say anything, but a small sigh escaped her, and Raven felt her soften, and knew she was awake.  Awake and content. Feeling a little bolder, Raven opened her palm and rested it flat against Abby’s stomach, and let her fingertips stroke the skin just the tiniest bit. Abby melted against Raven, became liquid, pliable, and the heat where their skin touched made Raven feel dizzy again. But in a lovely way, a sweet blissful safe way, with no fear or pain. Just this beautiful woman she was unexpectedly holding in her arms in the softest bed either of them had ever felt in their lives.

She held her close.  They slept.

**END OF PART 2**


	3. Power Surge

 

Abby was already dressed and cooking breakfast when Raven awoke the next morning.  She eased into consciousness slowly, luxuriously, and it took her a minute to realize why she was so rested, had slept so well.  Then it came rushing back to her, and she felt her face flush, remembering the sensations.  Abby's slight frame curled into hers, Abby's soft skin and hair pressed against hers.  Raven swallowed hard.  

Okay.

This was a thing now. 

They were going to have to talk about it. One of them was going to have to say something. 

Raven did not want it to be her, particularly - she suddenly found herself with no idea how to proceed, almost afraid to get out of the bed.  Wick was not coming until tomorrow morning.  They still had one more day and one more night together, and the thought of spending the next twenty-four hours in terse, awkward silence was more than she could bear.

But that wasn't the only thing she was afraid of, if she was being honest with herself.  She was afraid of a big dark Something hovering in the shadows just out of reach.  She was afraid that the Something would be there between her and Abby forever and maybe she wanted it to stay, maybe she liked it there, maybe she wanted to pull it into the light and see what it was . . . and maybe Abby didn't.  Maybe Abby would not know what to say, would be uncomfortable and stiff and not quite able to look at her directly.

Abby was one of her only real friends left, and Raven was suddenly unsure whether she had massively fucked it up.

"Breakfast!" Abby called from the other room, in an entirely normal tone.  "Get your butt up."

Or maybe it meant nothing, it changed nothing, Abby didn't even remember. 

Raven wasn't quite sure whether to be glad or sorry.

She got up, got dressed, and came out to the other room.  Abby had washed last night's dishes and set out new ones, two plates with the same fruit and pastries as yesterday, and more coffee.  "Good morning," said Abby, and she was the same, her voice was the same, everything was the same, Raven had slept all night long with her breasts pressed up against Abby's back, her face buried in Abby's hair, and everything was the same.  Raven did not know how to feel about this, but on the whole, after weighing a number of different emotional responses, opted for relief.  She would be more cautious tonight.  She would not push if Abby went for the couch.  She would put the walls back up, with Abby Griffin on the other side of them, and begin drawing some lines.

This was a close call.  This was a warning.  A shot across the bow.  Emotions can strike at any time, you have to be ready.  It was a symptom of shock and panic, that was all.  A desire for comfort.  Reaching out for a friend.  That was all.

That was all this was. 

It was clear that Abby thought so.  Abby had not changed.  Fine, then, thought Raven, a little defiantly.  I won't change then either.

"I'm headed back to the control room," she called over her shoulder to Abby in her most casual tone.  "I'll be there all day."

"Do you want me to come help?" asked Abby, sipping her coffee.

"Nope," said Raven.  "I'm good.  I'll see you later."  And as she trotted out the door, as nonchalant as you please, she could feel Abby behind her, leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee, her face expressionless, watching Raven walk away.

* * *

 Abby came by three or four times to bring Raven food - simple, delicious, fresh things, magnificent things, just like yesterday - but Raven could hear her boots coming from halfway down the hall and always had her head buried inside the electrical paneling when Abby walked in the door. 

"I brought apples and cheese," she would say, or "I brought you some lunch," or "I thought you might want some toast and tea."

Each time, Raven thanked her but made an elaborate pantomime of being too busy to come out and eat with her.  Each time, Abby waited a moment, then set the plate down and walked away.

There wasn't actually another full day's worth of work to do - she was mostly just fiddling - but it felt safer, somehow, than opening the floodgates of conversation with Abby.  Abby _saw_ her, that much was clear from last night.  Looked right at her and saw inside her, all the way down to the inside of her bones.  Raven Reyes did not, at the moment, feel like being seen like that again.  Not when she herself wasn't even entirely sure what there was to see.

Abby came by again to tell Raven dinner was ready.

"Just finishing up," she said.  "Go ahead and start without me.  I'll be right there."

This was rude - she knew this was rude - she knew Abby had taken trouble over her, all day, and the day before, and she wanted to put down the pliers she had been pretending to use all day and go drink wine and eat delicious things and sit on the couch with Abby and feel warm and soft and open and the tiniest bit drunk and peaceful and happy.  But Abby had not behaved as though last night changed anything, which meant that last night must not have changed anything for Abby, which made it very important that Raven create the impression that last night had not changed anything for her. (She would have been surprised to learn what a poor job she was doing.)

But Abby took it agreeably, told her she would leave it on the table for her and see her when she got back, and left without pressing her any further.

Good.

Fine.

Raven pretended to work for another hour or so, waiting long enough that Abby would have finished her own dinner.  She thought if she timed it just right, she might be able to wolf down her food while Abby was washing the dishes, which would keep things from going anywhere weird.  They wouldn't have to look at each other, not really, and if she was eating she wouldn't be expected to talk.  And then Abby would go sleep on the couch, and Raven would let her, and then in the morning Wick would come and Mount Weather would be full of people and they would go home, and this weird little interlude - this night of closeness - would fade away.

Fine.

Good. 

That was what she wanted.

She was pretty sure that was what she wanted.

She returned to the room, toolbox and supplies packed and ready to depart the next morning, and was both disappointed and relieved to see that Abby was not there.  There was no note or message, she was just gone.  Fine.  That was fine.  She ate her dinner - it was delicious, just like last time, another rich stew of which she ate three helpings.  No wine tonight, apparently.  That was fine too.  She rinsed out her bowl, so Abby wouldn't have to do it in the morning, put the pot of stew in the little icebox below the counter so it wouldn't spoil, and decided her best course of action was to be in bed, pretending to be asleep, by the time Abby returned from wherever she had gone to. 

She opened the bedroom door.

"Hi," said Abby, who was already in bed.  She was sitting up, cozy under the blankets with her pillow at her back, drinking a glass of wine - there was a second glass, ready full, on a small table on Raven's side of the bed - and she was reading.  The light was soft and dim, the bright overhead fixture replaced by two small lamps casting low golden light from either end of the bed.  "Did you get all your pretend work done?" she asked dryly, without looking up from her book.  "I know you had a lot on your plate."  Raven blushed and looked away.  "However weird you thought I was being last night," said Abby, looking up at her with an arched eyebrow, "not wanting to get undressed in front of you, that was nothing compared to you diving inside that electrical panel and waving those pliers at nothing every time you heard me walk down the hall.  Did you eat?"  Raven nodded, cheeks burning with mortification.  "Good.  I snagged another bottle of wine.  There's a glass over there for you.  And I found the library.  I thought you might want a book."

Curiosity got the better of Raven, and she came around the bed to pick up the book Abby had set on her pillow.

" _Fundamentals of Applied Electromagnetics, Fifth Edition_ ," she read.

"A little light bedtime reading," said Abby.

"What's yours?"

"It's a book of American poetry," she said, holding it up and showing Raven the cover.  " _Leaves of Grass_ , by Walt Whitman.  My grandfather told me about it once.  It was his favorite.  I've never read it before.  I've been reading and rereading it all day."

"I don't read much poetry," said Raven.

"I don't either, usually," said Abby.  "Maybe we should start.  Maybe it's an Earth thing.  Maybe now that we're down here on the ground, with grass and trees and clouds and the things they all write about, maybe it will turn out to be something that we'll need."  She looked back at her book, pointedly not meeting Raven's eye.  "Maybe there are things that are too hard to say if you're used to facts and numbers," she said quietly.  "Maybe the Ark made us too literal, and there are things we never learned the words for."

Raven didn't know how to respond to this, but she felt a little kick of excitement in the pit of her stomach at the way Abby was trying so hard not to look at her.  She decided to test the waters, and began taking off her shirt.  Abby kept reading.  Raven dropped her shirt on the ground and began to unfasten her pants.  Abby kept reading.  Raven climbed into bed next to Abby, pulled out her book, adjusted the pillow behind her back, and began to read.

They sat like that for a long time, drinking their wine and reading.  Raven felt the wine kick in, felt herself grow warm and relaxed.  They finished the bottle, eventually, and Raven found herself growing less and less interested in applied electromagnetics.  She stood from the bed and came around to Abby's side to collect the bottle and Abby's glass.  She leaned over to reach the low table, and that was when it happened.  Abby's calm exterior wavered ever so slightly, her eyes flicking swiftly up and then back down again.  It was over so quickly that Raven wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it.  But she was.  Something about the fact of Raven's proximity cracked the facade, just a little, and Raven realized Abby was nowhere near as indifferent as she appeared.

"My book is boring," she announced, climbing back into bed and switching off the lamp beside her, leaving only the soft gold light from Abby's side to illuminate the room.  "Read me something from yours."  Abby looked at her.

"You want me to read you some poetry?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You don't think that's maybe a little . . ."

"What?"

"Dangerous?"

"Why?"

"You know why," said Abby.  "I mean after last night."

She looked at Raven.  Raven looked back at her.

"Read me something from your book," she said, softer this time, but insistent, hoping that Abby would know what she meant. 

"All right," said Abby.  "Lie down.  Close your eyes.  I'll read to you."  Raven obeyed, moving as close to Abby as she dared, and listened to the soft crackle as Abby turned pages.  "Here," she said.  "This one.  It reminds me of you.  I've been reading it over and over all day."

The flutter in Raven's stomach was unbearable, but she lay still, and she listened.

"'Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams,'" Abby began, her voice low and soft.  "'I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; /Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you, / Your true Soul and Body appear before me.'"

_It reminds me of you.  I've been reading it over and over all day._

 And then Raven felt Abby move, shift, inch closer towards her.  There was a hand softly stroking her hair, her cheek.  "'Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem;/I whisper with my lips close to your ear,/ I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.'"  The hand slipped down from Raven's cheek to stroke her arm with featherlight caresses.  She did not open her eyes.  She could not move.  She could not breathe.

"'I will leave all,'" murmured Abby, her breath warm on Raven's ear, "'and come and make the hymns of you;/ None have understood you, but I understand you;/ None have done justice to you - you have not done justice to yourself.'"

"Abby," Raven whispered hoarsely as Abby's hand moved, fluttering light fingertips across Raven's open palm, sending electric shivers through her body.  Raven worked with her hands, used them every day, barely thought about them unless she sliced open a finger or burned herself on frayed wiring.  It had never occurred to her how much sensation they were capable of.  It had never occurred to her that one light fingertip tracing idle shapes along her palm and the inside of her wrist could possibly awaken such desperate heat between her thighs.  She had no idea.  She had no idea.

"'O, I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you,'" whispered Abby.  "'You have not known what you are - you have slumbered upon yourself all your life;/ Your eyelids have been the same as closed most of the time; /I pursue you where none else has pursued you - /Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustomed routine,/ If these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me.'"

Raven's breath was rapid and shallow, her heart pounding.  Abby set the book down and switched off the light.  She placed a soft hand on Raven's cheek, and Raven opened her eyes.  "'None have understood you," she whispered again, "but I understand you.'"

And then Abby lay down on her pillow, took Raven's hand in hers, and pulled it around her again, pressing Raven's palm against her stomach, and curled backwards into her again.  Raven pulled her close, letting their bodies melt together again, tracing idle patterns with her fingertip through the faint whisper of downy hair on Abby’s skin, and she realized she was wrong, she had been wrong about everything, nothing was the same, nothing would ever be the same again.  This, right here, this moment, this was a horizontal line drawn straight through Raven Reyes' life, and forever and always there would be a Before, and an After, separated by the startling, unexpected thing that happened next, when Abby took Raven's hand in her own and slid it slowly, irrevocably, downwards.

Raven could feel the heat between Abby’s thighs before her hand even got there, even through the barrier of cotton she could feel it, the hot wetness calling to her. Abby did not speak, did not use words, but guided Raven’s hand inside the cotton and down to the center of her, and then her guidance became suddenly unnecessary as instinct took over and Raven, who had never touched another woman like this in her life, suddenly found herself knowing exactly what to do. She pushed aside Abby’s thick heavy braid so she could press hot little kisses into the back of her neck, kisses that left Abby shivering even before Raven’s fingertips found all the right places inside of her. She stroked very lightly at first, running idle circles through the soft heavy outer folds, which made Abby melt into languid sighs. Then Raven’s deft mechanic’s fingers found the hard, hungry little bud of Abby’s clit, and the sighs turned to hoarse, panting breaths, woven through with a kind of low animal moan that sent a rush of damp heat surging between Raven’s own thighs. She found herself moving against Abby from behind, draping one leg over Abby’s thighs to pull her closer and try to find her own pleasure in the friction created by Abby’s increasingly desperate movements as she rocked and thrust against the Raven’s busy hand. Then she ceased her expert manipulations of Abby’s clit and plunged her fingers deep inside, and the sighs which had become moans turned into ragged, wordless cries of pleasure. Raven could feel Abby begin to swirl toward climax, could feel her body pulling and surging, trying to capture more, and she suddenly felt it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to bury her face in the back of Abby’s neck. She wanted to see. She wanted to watch.

Fingers still inside her, Raven gently rolled Abby from her side to her back and very lightly straddled her. The look on Abby’s face – mouth open, panting with pleasure, eyes wide and dark and serious – made Raven shiver, and her hand slowed momentarily to do the thing which seemed somehow even more intimate than all the other things she had done so far.

She kissed her.

Abby’s mouth received her hungrily, her breath hot and her lips and tongue insistent against Raven’s, pulling her deeper, begging for more. The kiss took Raven’s breath away. It very nearly stopped her heart. Abby’s arms came up around Raven’s back, pulling Raven’s body down and lifting her own hips upwards to meet it. She was so close. She was nearly there. Raven’s thumb swept back and forth across Abby’s clit as her fingers continued thrusting, and that did it. Abby could hold out no longer, and her orgasm roared through her like a tidal wave, leaving her washed up on the shore of Raven’s hot, damp body as she shuddered and collapsed into stillness.

Nobody moved, for a long time. Neither of them spoke. They just lay there, Raven’s body pressing Abby’s into the soft yielding mattress, while Abby caught her breath and slowly came back to life.

“Raven,” was all she said, but it was enough. There was nothing else to say. “Raven.”

She stroked Raven's sweaty hair, pressed grateful kisses against Raven's throat, and it was enough, she thought, the way her heart swelled to see Abby look at her like this, the panting sound of Abby's labored breathing.  She rolled off Abby's warm body and wrapped her arm around Abby's waist, curling up behind her again, kissing the back of her neck.

"Goodnight, Abby."

Abby pulled out of her arms and rolled over so she could look into Raven's eyes.

"You," she said.  "You didn't -"

"It's okay."

"No, but Raven -"

"It's okay, Abby."

"No, Raven, I want to," said Abby, her voice heavy with desire, and Raven looked at her in surprise.  "Please.  Let me.  I want to."  She kissed Raven's shoulder.  "Let me touch you, Raven.  Let me take care of you."

"Abby -"

"It's easier, isn't it," said Abby.  "With a man inside you."  Raven looked at her, startled.  "It's less naked somehow, I always think.  It's more straightforward.  That doesn't mean it's not wonderful - I mean, of course I think it's wonderful - but it's simpler.  You're both occupied at the same time.  Not like this."  She slid her hand down to run a gentle fingertip across the dark cotton that separated her from the heat between Raven's thighs.  "Not like this.  Not like lying here, open, vulnerable, letting me touch you, letting me look at you, letting me make you feel things.  You can be hard, and quick, and rough with a man.  But I'm asking you to be soft with me.  And you're terrified."  Raven closed her eyes, tightly.  “So what would happen,” asked Abby softly, tucking a strand of Raven’s hair behind her ears, “if you let me touch you? What if you were open, and you let me inside? What would happen?”

“I . . . I can’t –“

“You’re safe,” Abby murmured into her skin, and Raven did not know whether she believed her, but she _wanted_ to, she wanted to so badly that her whole body was tense and straining towards Abby, every cell crying out, _Let her in, let her in._

Her thighs parted, almost reflexively, just a little, just the tiniest bit, but it was enough.  Abby understood.  

 "Yes?" she said, half a statement, half a question.  Raven nodded.

_Yes._

"Say it," said Abby, softly.  "Say it so I'm sure you're sure."

"I want you," said Raven quietly.  "I want you to touch me.  I want to let you in." 

Abby kissed her, urgent, ecstatic, insistent, and Raven opened herself up.  Abby had been right; Raven was experienced at this, at making the other person feel good, and at assuring that her basic needs were met.  She knew how to get what she wanted and needed, from guys and with herself.  But she had never done it like this.  She had never lain still, eyes closed, entirely exposed, while somebody else tended to her and her alone.  She had had a lot of sex.  She had never been this _intimate._ Abby was soft and hard, firm and gentle, hungry and generous, all at once, her hands and mouth were everywhere, and the words from the poem hummed and pulsed through Raven's mind.  There was so much more to this than just pleasure.  There was so much _gravity._ The force that pulled her and Abby towards each other was inescapable.

 _Electromagnetic,_ thought Raven distantly as she felt Abby's hands slide first her cotton shorts, then her camisole off, leaving Raven entirely naked.  _That's what it is._ And then conscious thought left her entirely for a little while, as a hot mouth found first one breast, then the other, and Raven began to lose herself.  The mouth was urgent, hungry, devouring, suckling nipples and pressing fierce little kisses in a line down the coppery skin of Raven's stomach, lower, lower, lower, until . . .

_Oh._

Finn had done this to her before - but this was nothing like being with Finn.  He had been an exuberant boy, puppyish, enthusiastic, the first few times, though they eventually settled into a rhythm.  But Abby was a woman.  Abby knew exactly what to do.  She was deft, sure of herself, infallibly precise, but Raven could feel her getting swept away, and she was swept away too. 

She wanted this, just this, forever.  She never wanted the hot wet roughness of Abby’s tongue, flicking and dancing and caressing her, to stop. It was long, slow, gliding licks at first, as though Abby were soaking up her wetness, devouring it, consuming it. But Raven’s wetness was infinite, and the more Abby drank her up the more Raven arched her back and clutched at the sheets and moaned Abby’s name and felt more, more, more wetness pouring out of her into Abby’s mouth. She was so ready. She was so close. It took no more than a few minutes for the rasp of rough tongue on sensitive clit to send Raven spiraling into ecstasy, but Abby didn’t stop. She devoured Raven like a hungry animal, and by the time she finally pulled away, to press a sticky open-mouthed kiss onto Raven’s lips so Raven could taste herself, she had come three times against Abby’s voracious tongue.

She cried out, she trembled, she collapsed. 

Abby ran a gentle hand through Raven’s hair, and Raven felt tears spring up behind her eyes, inexplicably, she did not understand them, but there they were, connected in some strange way to this new ache that lived inside her chest that she knew was tied with a red-hot metal wire to a corresponding ache inside of Abby’s. It was some strange thing to do with the fulfillment of desire, with Abby's generosity - Abby's insistence that she would not sleep until Raven too was satiated - with the way it had felt to sit side-by-side with her in the bed, with books and wine, so easy, so natural, so very much as if this was a place they belonged, but also with the way Abby had taken the wrench from her hand and held her close, and with the words that thrummed over and over in her mind - _"if these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me."_ And then she saw tears in Abby’s eyes too, as she stroked Raven’s hair, and the thing inside Raven released. Abby wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close, and Raven sank into Abby's breast, and she cried for all the people she had promised herself she would never cry for.  For the family she had lost so long ago.  For Finn, who had been all she had.  For Clarke - for poor, tortured Clarke, who had given Finn the only act of love left available to her, at the most horrific cost.  For the more than fifty kids who had been sent down here to die. For the thousands on the Ark who had crashed to earth, who hadn't made it.  For Tondc.  For the people inside Mount Weather who hadn't deserved their fate.  And for herself.  For her damaged leg, her damaged heart.  She cried, and cried, and cried, and Abby held her, stroked her hair, kissed her, murmured softly into her ear, and let the iron core of her own strength seep into the younger woman, who so badly needed it.

“I’m sorry,” said Raven helplessly, voice choked with sobs.

“Oh, sweetheart, no,” said Abby, her voice heavy with emotion. “No. Don’t be sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry.”

"I don't know what -" she began, but couldn't finish.  Abby kissed her forehead.

"I do," she said.  "You've been holding all of that inside.  For much too long.  All of that, wound up tightly in here" - she pressed a hand on Raven's heart - "and you were so afraid to let it out.  You were afraid to show it to anyone."  She lay Raven gently back down against the pillows.  "Show _me_ ," she said, with a fierce tenderness in her voice.  "Show _me_.  I want to see you, Raven."

"Be careful what you ask for, Abby," said Raven, with half a smile. "That might take a lot longer than just tonight."

Abby kissed her, then, warm and soft and open, and when she pulled away she was smiling too.

"I'm in no hurry," she said.  "We have all the time in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains excerpts from "To You" by Walt Whitman, which - like "I Sing the Body Electric," quoted in Chapter 1 - is from the anthology "Leaves of Grass."


End file.
